Fireworks
by UA
Summary: The whole damn world quit making sense to him 'round about the time it stopped spinning...Carol and Daryl share a moment on a hot summer night. Set in an indiscriminate time in the future, sometime around season 7. No spoilers. Some language.


**Fireworks**

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It's late, and a blanket of stars dots the navy sky, high and bright. Up and down the street, candles wink behind loosely drawn curtains and shadows dance upon velvet lawns. The air is sticky thick like warm molasses, not even a whisper of a breeze stirring, and the crickets sing a lazy summer song that drowns out the distant discontent of the dead.

At least Daryl _thinks_ it's a summer song. Could be Spring, back home in Georgia, but Virginia's a bit of a different animal. The whole damn world quit making sense to him 'round about the same time it stopped spinning—you can't really take anything for granted any more, not that he _ever_ could, growing up a dirt-poor Dixon, and he's been trying to make heads or tails of it ever since, surviving the best way he knows how. Most days he does alright. Today? Well, the day's not over yet, he thinks as he sits down on the steps, settles in with his forearms draped carelessly across his bent legs. His bones pop, and he winces, swears beneath his breath, and he's still rubbing at the aching joints when he hears the faint creak of the door opening somewhere behind him.

Carol doesn't join him on the steps. No, not at first. She briefly considers the rocking chair, braces her hands on the porch railing instead as she stares out at the small patch of grass stretching before them for a while, watches the children play.

She doesn't say anything, not one single word, and Daryl's not one for many words anyway. She's been like this since he and Aaron returned from their run, two days late but no worse for wear, their meager haul a strange collection of odds and ends. Even in the darkness, her blue eyes glow soft and shiny, and the small smile that pulls at her lips is thin. The desire to ask her what's bothering her is a dull ache beneath Daryl's skin, but patience is a learned virtue she taught him a long time ago now, and he knows she'll talk when she's good and ready. So he lets his attention be drawn back to Carl and Ass Kicker and the girl the boy follows like a lovesick puppy.

Carl chases his sister in circles, dizzy and tight, a shower of sparks trailing behind him like a comet's tail. Judith's happy squeals are swallowed by the night as she's scooped up by her brother. Enid observes it all, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her usually sour mouth.

Daryl's own smile is a revelation even to himself. He ducks his head, hides his eyes beneath the damp fringe of his hair when he feels the warmth of Carol at his side. The smothering heat aside, it's a welcome feeling, having her so close, and he doesn't even flinch when her arm brushes against his own. These past few months, with everything that's happened, losing family like they have, the distance between them has been slow to close, but they're getting there. Slow but sure, even if Daryl's in the rare position of wanting to hurry things along. He straightens a bit when she speaks, darts a careful glance her way.

"I still can't believe you and Aaron risked your lives for a bunch of fireworks."

Her mouth is doing that cute little Cupid's pucker it does sometimes when she teases him, and the memory of another night, just the two of them on top of a bus beneath a midnight sky fills Daryl with a warmth that has little to do with the heady humidity that hovers and lingers even now. It seems so far away now, so far removed from where they are, in this moment. But he remembers it. Just like it was yesterday. "Good distraction," he offers. And it's true. He's learned a few things here and there, from Terminus, from that prick Jesus, hell. From the woman beside him. Any way he could throw those mindless fucks off their trail, well, he'd take it. Ass Kicker's current source of entertainment? He's not even going to try to explain that one away. He knows she'll see right through any excuses he makes. So why bother? He chances another look at her, and his throat threatens to close up on him at the way her eyes sparkle at him, this time soft and sweet with amusement. That sweetness turns bittersweet with her next words.

"Sophia used to love sparklers."

"Yeah?" he asks, and he traces the silver path of her silent tears with lover's eyes. He doesn't know who is more surprised, Carol or himself, when his hand reaches out and cradles her jaw. She captures it in her own when he tries to pull it away, and it's a strange sensation, but Daryl can't shake the feeling he's holding her heart in his hands in that moment. Her lips brush against his skin with every softly murmured word, and Ass Kicker's giggles fade away beneath the roar of his own pounding pulse.

"Ed refused to buy any of the rest of them. Said they made too much noise. But sparklers? He didn't mind so much. And she loved them."

She rubs her cheek against his palm like a kitten seeking affection, and Daryl forgets what it feels like to breath, all the oxygen seeming to evaporate from his struggling lungs like mist. Unconsciously, his eyes drift downward to her mouth, and he's leaning forward, closing the distance between them inch by mile-long inch when she pulls his hand from her cheek and drops a kiss to his scarred knuckles, scooting back just a fraction and placing his hand back in his lap.

"Know who else loves sparklers?"

"Judith, come back!"

The toddler ignores her brother, stumbling forward in a clumsy, uncoordinated sprint that leads her right to them. She waves her stolen prize in front of her like a magic wand, and in the shimmer of falling sparks, her cheeks are round and ruddy. She smiles at them both, her mother's eyes glowing from her little face, her stubby brown pigtails escaping their ribbons. "Caro, Dar…wook. Pwetty."

"Very pretty." Carol agrees. She gently removes the sputtering sparkler from the tiny girl's sweaty little hands, draws shapes in the air before the tired child can even muster up a protest, and Ass Kicker squeezes in between the pair of them, resting her cheek against the worn material of Daryl's pants as she lets Carol lull her into a sleepy, trancelike state.

With little more than a nod in their direction, Carl slips away to walk Enid home.

Silence gradually settles over them, and Daryl smiles slightly when he realizes Carol and the crickets' lullaby have soothed the little girl to sleep. He cards calloused fingers through the fine hair spilling into his lap. When he looks up, the tenderness in Carol's blue eyes starts a slow unraveling in him that Daryl feels down to his very marrow. Before he can act, though, a throat clears, and he reluctantly tears his gaze away. "'Chonne," he greets.

Michonne gazes at the child nestled between them with a mother's soft eyes, and Carol smiles when she bends to scoop Judith into her embrace with the gentlest of hands. "C'mon, baby girl. Shh," she croons when the little girl whines against her breastbone. "Time to get you to bed."

"It quiet out there?" Daryl asks, feeling oddly exposed when his friend rakes a knowing gaze over the two of them. He breathes a sigh of relief when Michonne allows the distraction, answers him with only a nod of her head and a few quiet words. "Barely a peep. Rick won't be long."

Carol nods and climbs to her feet. "It's getting late."

Disappointment courses through Daryl's blood like a steady, building wave, but he grunts in agreement. He doesn't trust himself to look at her when she pauses at the door, just behind Michonne.

"You coming?"

"In a bit. Gonna wait on the boy."

Something in her eyes flickers and her smile grows small again. "You sure?"

Daryl feels it like a punch to the gut, hates himself for putting that expression on her face again, but he nods, stands slowly and crosses to the railing she'd braced herself against earlier, looks out into the night. He doesn't look back. It holds him up as he mutters, "M'sure." After a while, the door closes with a quiet snick and his weight sags forward. Sweat beads and crawls through his hair, slips down his neck and travels over his broad shoulders. Those damn crickets continue to sing, mock him with their cheerful boldness. His frustration boils over, and he slaps his palms against the pristine rails, pushes back. He whirls around, poised to attack when he collides with a warm body. His mouth falls open in surprise when he finds himself staring into a familiar pair of blue eyes.

"Thought you were going to wait on Carl."

There's just a tiny spark of accusation in her gaze, just enough to strike a match to the heated jumble of his emotions, and he barks out his own complaint. "Thought you said it was getting late. Thought you was headed to bed." His flustered state seems to amuse her. The revelation just makes him more defensive. "Ain't you got better things to do than sneak up on me?" The question doesn't have the desired effect. Daryl groans when she giggles, that happy sound making the tightly wound coil inside of him snap. She's doing that thing with her mouth again, and dammit, if he doesn't want to…

Carol's arms snake around his neck, and all her soft parts press up against him as her lips cut off the rest of any words he might have said.

His brain short circuits, and Daryl reacts on instinct alone, pulling her impossibly closer and slanting his mouth over hers, messy and eager, and he whimpers. He goddamn whimpers when he feels the tentative touch of her shy tongue. One of his hands hooks around her waist, and the other finds its way beneath her shirt, his thumb dipping into the well of her belly button. His heart feels like it's doing a countdown for liftoff, and he's panting harshly against her lips when she rocks back on her heels, pulls back. "The hell was that?"

Carol bites her lip and shrugs a tiny shrug, but her eyes are as bright as the stars up above, _hopeful_. More hopeful than he's seen her look in a damn long time. "Depends. What do you want it to be?"

"'Member when I said we get to start over?" The words fight their way past old hurts and disappointments. They're soft and gruff and it's a wonder she even understands him at all, but if the fucking heart eyes she gives him are any indication, she does. Oh, she understands him alright. "I want to start over." Tears stain her cheeks again, happy tears, and he's never seen a sight more pretty.

"Both of us? Me and you?"

"Together," Daryl affirms. "Trying. What you got to say 'bout that?" He swears he stops breathing when she kisses him again, soft and sweet and reluctant to part. He lets her weave their hands together when she pulls back this time, and he uses that grip to hold on to her when she starts backing away, but she's not leaving him. No, she's coaxing him toward the door, and he feels a lightness he's never felt in his whole fucking life fill him from the inside out.

"I still want to, if you…"

She melts into his kiss, and they fall against the door with a soft thud, but Daryl doesn't care. His rough hands slide over her throat, into her hair, pull her impossibly closer still, and yet she still isn't close enough. He wants to crawl into her, share the same body, the same soul. He only hopes she feels the same way, only hopes she can read the depth of his feelings in the way his hands touch her, in the way he kisses her as if he never wants to stop kissing her, because he knows no words are enough to tell her how he feels. He presses his forehead against hers, tears his lips away, and searches her eyes one more time. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiles at him, and she reaches out to open at her back. "What do you say to some _real_ fireworks, Pookie?"

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